


scorched under your sun is how i want to go down

by bulut



Category: Akudama Drive
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fix-It, M/M, Minor Brawler/Hoodlum (Akudama Drive), References to Depression, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulut/pseuds/bulut
Summary: Everybody else dims, fades out into the background, when Courier is in his line of vision.
Relationships: Courier/Hacker (Akudama Drive), Hacker (Akudama Drive) & Everyone
Kudos: 5





	scorched under your sun is how i want to go down

**Author's Note:**

> this fix-it has been a long time coming, conceived before anyone even died in the anime. to think...
> 
> brawler, hoodlum and doctor are aged up because they need to belong to the parental generation in relation to the others for the purposes of this fic. also, for the sake of my fragile happiness, please let us pretend that their aliases are their actual names.

His eighteenth birthday party finds him not quite unprepared but still takes him by surprise.

“You invited everyone?” he asks his father for the fourth time since he’s woken up and received the news.

“Yes, everyone, even Doctor,” his dad’s forehead wrinkles at the mention of his vindictive ex, “and there’s a five-layer cake.” The last part was not presupposed by Hacker’s question but Hoodlum apparently feels the need to justify his grandeur by stuffing it into the same bag as every other mundane detail about the party.

“What if it rains?” The party is to be held in their backyard where there’s ample space but in case of emergencies, their house is a bit modest to fit seven people and festivities in it.

“Young man, if it rains, it rains; surely no one will mind socialising in close quarters on a day as merry as your birthday!” Hoodlum shooes Hacker away from the counter where he works on two identical charcuterie boards, signalling the end of his patience.

Hacker, thoroughly unused to the idea of so many people gathering for his sake even after all these years, adjusts his cap in an embarrassed habit. The cap, which didn’t need adjusting, now sits crooked on his head and mats some of his baby hair to his forehead.

If everyone is invited, Courier will likely show up as a regular guest, roommate in tow, at the same time as everyone else. Hacker’s dads will welcome him with thanks, which he will return with a bow of his head, regal and proper. Brawler will possibly resort to intimidation tactics, still not fully married to the idea that his baby son is now old enough to fall in love, to be in a relationship. It’s more adorable than anything else to watch all two metres of him do his best impression of a strict father; then bristle when Courier meets his gaze head on, unfazed.

Warmth nests in Hacker’s chest, watching them. He maybe imagines Courier in a crisp black suit, bouquet of red roses nested in the crook of his elbow, bowing and asking for Hacker’s hand in marriage. Maybe he’s too young to dream of such domesticities.

Maybe he’s not, especially considering who his fathers are.

In his nerves until the guests arrive, he doesn’t feel like filling his time with any of his usual preoccupations. Intending to get some sunlight, he steps outside through the screen door. As he makes his way to the swing, he hears Brawler joining Hoodlum in the kitchen, the very distinct sounds of their flirting reaching Hacker without any delay.

He hides a smile behind his hand. Thirteen years and they haven’t changed in the slightest.

From the swing, where he has full view of their backyard, Hacker takes in the preparations done for his sake. The crooked legs of the round dinner table in the middle where many a summer night dinner was merrily eaten is now out of sight under a white tablecloth. There’s a vase of pink roses at the centre, petals of the same hue dotting the table and the grass underfoot. The mismatched assortment of chairs are each adorned by bows from pink ribbon. The dinnerware and silverware are old and battered but spotless clean.

Hacker must be on a particularly emotional spell because the reminders of Hoodlum’s usual homeliness are enough to bring tears to his eyes.

His home, their home, and the life they built under this roof, this roof that’s not picture perfect but is as good as any he could wish for, and now, another person he wants in the picture, more than anyone, more than anything, another one he selfishly desires to whisk him away to a place of even more happiness—

He remembers what Courier once wrote him—ever too shy with his spoken words—when the doubts about whether he deserves this life, this love, anything, crept in.

_I have a mind of my own and in there, you’re deserving of everything I have to offer and more. I have a heart of my own and in it, you’re riding shotgun. I have a life of my own and I’ve already accepted you as my co-star. Whether you like it or not._

He’s loved. He’s loved by the absolute divinity of a man he loves. Life’s maybe steering him in a good direction.

He scuffs his shoes into the dirt and stops the swing. He needs to bury his face in his hands and muffle a shriek.

Doctor’s the first one to arrive and it surprises no one that her gift is a bottle of liqueur.

“Only the best for my most favourite gentleman,” she teases Hacker, syrupy and languid, as she passes by the three party hosts at the doorway. Hacker grimaces. It’s always challenging to share the same space with Doctor, now even more so since his fathers are also here. The silver lining is that Courier didn’t see Doctor flirt with him, no matter how much of a joke it is. He always reacts the exact way Doctor looks forward to, baring his teeth, hand flying over Hacker’s in a possessive motion, and Hacker does melt inside each time it happens but he also doesn’t want Courier in distress.

“I’m taken,” he stresses, for the sake of what’s now a running gag between them, and Doctor waves a nonchalant hand back at him as she struts away to where she knows the party will commence.

And what a sentence it is. _I’m taken._ Most of the time, he says it just because he can, jumping at every opportunity to form the words, to articulate the thought—he has someone, someone’s got him, there’s someone he’s always waiting for, someone waiting for him.

He hides a smile behind his bangs. Brawler and Hoodlum are too busy to see his bashful expression over their own hearty courtship display, regardless.

The moment breaks when Cutthroat’s voice carries through the still open front door.

“What a buoyant sight to welcome us with; however, you’re not wearing enough red today, Brawler!” he sings, somehow sighing and screaming concurrently, as he skips over the threshold. In that instant, Hacker’s heart is in his throat—Cutthroat is Courier’s roommate; they most likely came together…

“Pardon the intrusion,” a deep voice grunts from behind Cutthroat, never one to keep Hacker waiting.

He’s in trademark dark colours, a pair of black stonewashed jeans and his favourite fashionably tattered jacket draped over his shoulders, partially concealing how well the black dress shirt under it flatters his form. Hacker drinks in the sight, willing his face not to light up like a lantern in his painfully transparent show of emotions, but what is he even trying so hard for? Courier knows.

As Hacker plasters on a neutral face to keep his obvious favouritism of his party guests in, his fathers receive the present Cutthroat has procured, a set of kitchen knives, Hoodlum gushing over the shiny, sharp metal and Brawler humming a warning for him not slice off his fingers like he almost did the last time he used one of Cutthroat’s choices of weapon. Courier pays them a civil nod. Brawler raises his brows in response, an improvement, really; Hoodlum struggles not to demonstrate just how much he loves his son’s boyfriend in front of his disapproving husband.

Too much happiness on a single day; it makes Hacker anxious. Still, it’s nothing a flickering gaze from Courier can’t diffuse.

Cutthroat slings an arm around his neck and drags him off to the backyard where the festivities are, Courier shadowing behind—they couldn’t manage a proper greeting but it’s not like that matters when they’re so attuned to each other, when merely sharing space is enough. From then on, it’s the older crowd crossfiring Courier and Cutthroat with questions about their shared business, rising rental prices and motorbike care as Hacker, used to his voice not being heard over the adults’ conversation, listens in for the treasured opportunity to hear his boyfriend’s voice.

It’s not until Swindler’s addition to the group that the party properly begins, along with relentless fawning from both his fathers and the bizarre stream of consciousness out of Cutthroat’s mouth, Swindler kicking him under the table, Doctor sending predatory smiles at Hoodlum, to Hacker’s endless amusement. He muffles a snort in his hand. A mismatched collection of individuals Hacker could have never guessed would even care to breathe in the direction of one another, and they’re his family. Knowing he would sulk for the rest of the night if they embarrassed him, they don’t attempt overt celebration, but he knows they’re here, they’re here for him.

And Courier, Courier does what he always does. His presence demands Hacker’s attention. From the moment he set foot in the house, he’s been all Hacker can see.

Not long into the afternoon, his dads are drunk on whatever it is that Doctor brought: obviously nothing as innocent as it looks. Cutthroat’s gotten all docile and purring no less like a kitten than real cat spawn, draped all over Swindler who is not so much annoyed anymore as she’s incredulous at his persistence. Hacker has a fleeting suspicion that Swindler is Cutthroat’s rebound love after Courier. Still, his sympathies are with Cutthroat—anyone would be a goner for Courier from the moment they met him, anyone would get their heart broken. He can’t find it in himself to be jealous when he knows it’s not a matter of if but a matter of when, when it’s Courier concerned. Falling for his silent charm is inevitable. Doctor did, at some point. Swindler did. Cutthroat did, maybe still does.

It’s nothing he should worry about, as Courier also reinforces. It’s the way of life, and he’s the one Courier’s chosen, anyway.

Cutthroat is his friend, though, and he’s sad. He tries not to let himself worry about it but it’s oftentimes to no avail. That’s when he tells himself, it’s a good sign if he can genuinely feel bad about Cutthroat’s hopeless love rather than feel threatened by it. It’s a good sign if he can let himself feel secure in a relationship, after a lifetime of worrying he’s not enough, never good enough.

This birthday lunch, eaten to the melody of birds, is everything Hacker could have asked for and more, but he’s getting impatient. He can’t wait to put his hands on Courier, have his hands on himself, an hour or two of slow, indulgent kissing if he’s lucky. Currently, anyone but himself, Courier and Doctor is out of the count. Doctor keeps cutting looks at Hacker over the table as if to say she knows what he’s thinking. Hacker sends a crooked smile in return.

When the poor drunks decide to carry their heavy heads inside, onto the comfort of the worn cushions of their home, Hacker’s shooed away from the table to indulge in his birthday boy status as the others clean up the table. Courier is not so subtly shooed away right after him and in no time, he finds himself pressed together with his boyfriend on the swing. They watch the wasted crowd file inside, carrying the last of the dishes. Doctor lingers behind with the excuse of a smoke, keeping a distance from them but the size of their yard doesn’t allow for much privacy.

Her choice if she wants to watch a teenager make out with his boyfriend like a parched man gulps down water after days of walking under the dessert sun.

“She’s being a creep, as always,” Courier grunts from right above his ear. He removes Hacker’s cap, a seemingly arbitrary action that, without a doubt, implies the plans Courier has for the immediate future, plans involving his hands and Hacker’s hair.

“How about we see how far we need to go until she’s too uncomfortable to keep watching?” Hacker replies, voice casual but breath bated as he waits for his answer.

“I like the sound of that.”

It’s all he needs to hear before he climbs on Courier’s lap in record speed.

“You,” he breathes, “You wear these and come here and expect me to last hours before I can so much as brush hands with you.”

Courier’s smile is a mythical creature, one only the good kids can see. Hacker’s been one. God knows he tried so hard not to break façade at the lunch table. He kisses the smile off Courier’s face with one of his own.

His boyfriend’s wide palms, long fingers on his thighs, his own hands twined in Courier’s hair, chests flush, lips pushed together, it’s all he wants. _God, if you exist somewhere,_ he prays, _my parents and my boyfriend and the handful of people who love me in the world, they’re all I need. They’re all I care about. If you’re so loving as everyone says you are, so compassionate, please don’t take them away from me, don’t think just this much happiness too much for me, and we’re good._

His hands card through dark hair, wander down between the creases of Courier’s shirt, push his jacket off his shoulders for closer contact, more heat from skin, more—

He bites on Courier’s lower lip in his excitement, the elicited groan of pain bringing him back to his less intense thoughts.

“Oops,” he amends, perpetually cold fingers finding Courier’s lip to compress the hurt tissue, “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be,” Courier easily offers comforting words, and Hacker swoons, only this easy with him, only this easy because they’re for _him_ , “I like it when you’re excited.” He then goes on to add, a vindictive corner of his lip quirking up, up in pure teasing, the cruel man—“Over seeing me.”

Hacker, petulant and falling all too willingly into Courier’s clutches, captures Courier’s lips back in a fiery kiss without gracing his remark with a comment. It would be dishonest of him to one-up Courier with a retort anyway; he _is_ excited, he _is_ nigh fainting because he’s with Courier, and he _is_ all too willing to burn in the fire of Courier’s passion until the end of time, after all.

Later on, as the setting sun soaks strands of Courier’s hair crimson and Hacker’s own ashy bangs are sprawled over the black-clad expanse of Courier’s chest, they find that Doctor has long disappeared somewhere. Courier has one hand around his waist, pressing Hacker into himself, the safest place in the whole world; his other hand is petting Hacker’s head. Hacker listens to Courier’s heartbeat, the piping hot of a universe full of love, passion, affection possibly leaving sear marks all over his insides, judging by the way the intensity of his own feelings leave him almost wanting to cough out the cancerous happiness, cough out the lungs with which he shares the same air Courier breathes, leave him wanting to close his eyes for one last time, before the tides can turn and his happiness can be taken from under his feet, just a little.

Because he has his family, his friends and his lover with him at all times, because he has his own reborn self, because he’s strong, he smothers that thought and lets himself bask in the happiness surrounding him and flowing out of him, without any inhibitions.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading.


End file.
